


It's all a blur

by Mierke



Category: Take Two (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, pre-series AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:07:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierke/pseuds/Mierke
Summary: Sam wakes up in a tennis outfit and with no idea what happened last night. Maybe a PI can help her figure things out. Set pre-series.





	It's all a blur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burglebezzlement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burglebezzlement/gifts).



"Are you Eddie Valetik?"

Sam entered the building, not entirely comfortable with her surroundings – this guy could really use some redecorating – but the man was supposed to be discreet. Really discreet. And that's what she needed right now. This guy seemed a bit young, but hey, you never knew, right?

"No, but I am," a man said. He'd walked out of a room Sam supposed was the office, and looked... She refused to use the word gorgeous. Rugged, that was it. That could be a bad thing, right? All rough and all? "What can I do for you today, miss Swift?"

The way he said her name made it clear he was not a fan. Sam flinched, but straightened her back.

"I need your help," she said, and followed him into his office. He sat down on one of the chairs and she followed his lead, slightly nervous about the whole thing.

"What can I do for you today?"

"You're discreet, right? Nothing I say will leave this building and all that?"

Mister Valetik had the nerve to smile at her question, and Sam had to fight the urge to turn around and flee.

"All my services are completely confidential, and no information which comes up during this investigation will be made public."

"Good." Sam sighed, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders break loose. This was what she needed right now. "I need to figure out what I did last night."

"Excuse me?"

He looked at her as if she'd gone insane, and she guessed she couldn't really blame him.

"Since you knew my name before I introduced myself, you probably know about my very public… problematic lifestyle."

He nodded, but didn't make any further comments, for which Sam was grateful.

"I am trying to get better, I really am, but I fell off the wagon last night. I have no idea what happened, except that somehow _Jolene_ was involved, and at one point I changed into this."

She gestured to indicate her tennis outfit. She looked cute, of course, she just had never felt the need for a midnight game of tennis before and she had no idea why that would have suddenly come up now. To her relief, mister Valetik had produced a notebook from somewhere and started writing.

"Does that mean you'll help me?" she asked.

"Let's go over some of the details first," he said, and the knot in Sam's belly tightened again. She didn't really know what she would do if this guy wouldn't be willing to help. "Who is Jolene?"

"Oh no, not a person," she explained. "The song. You know? _Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeeene, I'm begging of you please don't take my man._ "

"Ah." He scribbled something down. "You expect me to reproduce your evening based on a sports outfit and a country song?"

"Yes...?" Sam said. "I heard you were the best."

"I thought you heard I was discreet," he pointed out, and Sam could hear the amusement in his voice.

"I heard both," she grumbled. "Are you saying you're _not_ the best?"

"Oh, I am the best," he assured her. "I'm just not sure my talents are suited to a drunken night out."

"I get it," she said. "I do. I must seem ridiculous to you. But I really am trying, _so hard_ , and I just want to know how badly I screwed things up again, preferably before the paparazzi tell me all about it."

For a moment he just looked at her, sizing her up really, and Sam shifted in her seat. She knew she wasn't exactly person of the year material right now, and she didn't know what to do if he found her lacking.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Oh, thank God," she sighed.

He raised his eyebrows at that, but didn't comment and gestured for her to go on.

"I remember leaving the set at about... 7 pm. After that... It's all a blur."

"Then that's my starting point." Mister Valetik closed his notebook with a snap and stood up from his desk. "You can go home, miss Swift. I will let you know when I find something."

"Wait, you're doing this without me?"

Again, that sardonic look in his eyes.

"I don't make a habit of taking my clients along, no," he said.

"But I-"

"Go home," he said, something almost gentle in his tone of voice. "Get some rest. Change into a different outfit. I promise I will call you as soon as I know something."

He left the office before Sam had even realized he'd been moving.

"Berto, can you track the internet for any new paparazzi photos of miss Swift? Oh, and try to see if any radio station played Jolene last night, it might help us narrow down where she heard the song."

It was obvious she was dismissed, and Sam felt a stab of loneliness. She quickly darted into the elevator before the doors could close, cementing her separation from the PI.

"Please take me with you," she begged.

"Miss Swift," he said, and the derision she’d expected to hear in his voice seemed gone. This close to him she noticed how good he smelled, and she had to fight the urge to bury her face in his neck. She must still be a little drunk, that was the only possible explanation. "It’s hard to be discreet when I’ve got the subject of my investigation trailing along with me."

"Please call me Sam," she said, and added, with a little more difficulty: "You have a point."

The elevator dinged and they both got out. He turned to her, his smile even reaching his eyes this time.

"Just go home," he said. "I will let you know as soon as I find something."

* * *

Her home was beautiful, of course, but it was also big, and empty, and filled with bad memories. Sam shed her sports clothes – really, where _had_ they come from? – and put on her most comfortable sweatpants and T-shirt. She sank down on the couch, her mind not really focussing on the _American’s Next Top Model marathon_ that was playing on her TV.

This hadn’t been her first blackout, of course, but the change of clothes had really freaked her out. On the one hand, she’d woken up alone, and with all her underwear still on, so chances were good she hadn’t gone home with some random guy or, even worse, an ex. But she was still rattled by the utter… un-Sam-ness of the whole situation. 

She got up and took out her emergency booze and faltered. When had she turned into a person who thought that owning emergency booze was a totally normal and healthy thing to do? Gathering all her determination and willpower, she stalked towards the sink and poured it all out. Her gut twisted, the smell almost luring her into not remembering what she had forgotten, but she held strong. 

Sam returned to the couch, a cup of coffee in her hand, and crawled under a blanket. Things would get better. The PI would tell her what had happened, and then she could return to a normal life. 

She was shaking by the time the doorbell rang, her emotions having gotten the better of her. She quickly wiped away the tears, and looked through the peephole.

“Mister Valetik,” she said, a little surprised, as she opened the door for him. “I thought you would call?”

“I was in the neighbourhood,” he said, citing the oldest lie in the book. From the way he was looking around, Sam figured he was either a bigger fan that she’d imagined, or he was paranoid. In his line of work, both could be true, she supposed. 

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” she asked.

He looked to be on the verge of agreeing, but eventually shook his head.

“This won’t take long.”

He sat down at her living room table, and Sam sat across from him. 

“Have you found out what happened?” she asked, tampering the nerves in her stomach and wishing that she had something to take the edge off. Maybe she should have made a cup of coffee for herself, at least a warm mug would have given her hands something to do.

“It appears that just after you left the set, you ran into a fan, who raved about how nice and kind you were on Twitter,” he began, and he showed her the tweet. 

Sam smiled. “I love my fans.”

It was the one thing she was unequivocally sure about, no matter how much she sometimes loathed the paparazzi and public life that came with her job. Being able to touch people, to come into their homes and make their life a little easier, a little better, that was the best feeling in the world. 

“Yes, well, the feeling is mutual,” he gruffly mumbled.

“Why, mister Valetik, are you a fan?” she asked, delighted.

The PI, completely ignoring her question, continued his account of what had happened.

“You mentioned to him that you had a dinner date, so we looked into that. If it was true, you had dinner at someone’s house, because we couldn’t find you anywhere in the city.”

He looked at her as if waiting for her to fill in the blanks, so she shrugged.

“I do have friends, you know. And some of them even cook. So it is possible.”

“A couple of hours later we picked up your trail again, where a cab driver with an insatiable taste for country music played Jolene at top volume. He mentioned that you kept muttering about _becoming a better person_ and _making healthier choices_. He dropped you off at the New York Tennis Club.”

“The New York Tennis Club,” Sam repeated. 

“Yes. Have you ever been there before?”

Sam shook her head. “I’ve never played a game of tennis in my life. That must have been quite some dinner.”

“It seems you have broken in, stolen an outfit from their shop, and went on to play a mean game of tennis against a non-existent opponent. When you ran out of balls, you decided to leave the premises.”

“Do they know it was me?” she asked.

“It’s quite an exclusive club,” he said. “Cameras everywhere, so yes, they _do_ know it was you. But if you decide to become a member, and advertise it on your social media, they will not press any charges.”

“That’s amazing,” Sam said. “Thank you, so much, mister Valetik. This is… I know you don’t think much of me, but this has really helped.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, and he stood up to leave her home. 

At the door, he turned around to face her. 

“It seems you were working on turning your life around, even under the influence,” he said. “That says something about you. Keep at it, and you’ll get there.”

He left, and Sam sat down with a smile on her face. She could do this. She really could.


End file.
